


He Said, She Said

by xosairbearxo



Category: Hiddlestoner
Genre: F/M, He Said She Said, Love, May I Feel Said He, Sex, Smut, e.e. cummings - Freeform, tom hiddleston - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-14
Updated: 2014-01-14
Packaged: 2018-01-08 17:11:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,516
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1135284
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xosairbearxo/pseuds/xosairbearxo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A.K.A. "May I Feel, Said He?" -- After a night of wine and chatting, you make the bold choice to challenge Tom Hiddleston to an E.E Cummings-Off. But you should've known that with a poem like "May I Feel, Said He", Tom would have the power to give you a run for your money. *VERBAL FOREPLAY IN CHAPTER 1; HEAVY SMUT IN PARTS 2 AND 3*</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Challenge

You laugh for about the millionth time as your conversation over a glass of red wine in your hotel room leads to Tom going on another rant about literature; he feels comfortable doing so with you because he knows full well that this is a topic that you are also passionate about. It didn’t take long for you two to grow close while filming on set; despite being so different, you also discovered you shared many common interests, and once he discovered your love of the written word, he practically gravitated towards you. This isn’t the first night you’ve spent together, talking until the wee hours of the morning, despite having to be back on set at an early hour – and this isn’t the first time your heart flutters in your chest as you watch him speak, lost in his own world. This man, who is so passionate and wonderful and alive, makes you want to be more; makes you want to be the best you can be. You know that you should just be happy with his friendship and stop hoping for more, but the lingering glances and the smiles of adoration you seem to always receive from him are enough to halt whatever water could douse this skeptical fire. 

He makes one of his many tangents and starts quoting E.E. Cummings; he has a sparkle of excitement in his eye whenever he speaks about this kind of stuff, and it never fails to make you smile warmly. He finishes – at least, that’s what it seems like – and eyes you in expectation, waiting for your own input. You don’t know what to say – as always, he’s managed to perfectly say it all – when a silly idea pops into your mind and you open your mouth without thinking. 

“Ah, well, you are not the only one who knows their E.E. Cummings, good sir,” you say confidently, pointing your finger at him competitively. He smiles that smile and laughs. You know you should stop there, but even though you are nowhere near intoxicated, the glass of wine has made you bold, and paired with your inability to know when to stop talking sometimes, you’re now on a roll. “In fact, I challenge you to an E.E. Cummings Off,” you continue, lowering your glass to the side table and standing up.

He squints his eyes at you in amusement. “A what?”

“You heard me,” You say, feeling much braver than you probably should. A small voice in your head pleads with you to stop, to quit while you’re ahead; that you’ll wake up in the morning and feel mortified at what you had done. But whatever filter you normally have is momentarily obliterated. “I’ve seen that video on Youtube of you reading ‘May I Feel, Said He’. I challenge you to that poem.”

Tom laughs again, looking at you like a right-minded person does when in the company of the only drunk person in the room, even though you are perfectly sober. But he is going to humour you. “And what exactly would we have to do?” he asks, and he stands as well. You think about it for a moment and then point at him again. “You say the guy’s lines and I’ll say the girl’s, and whoever can put more feeling into it, wins.”

Again, he chuckles, running his hand through his hair and looking from the ground back up to you. You realize that, somehow, that glass of wine is likewise making him feel bold now, too. At least, that must be it, right? He has to be feeling bold to accept such a ridiculous proposal. “Okay,” he says finally, and then without another word, clears his throat and looks down to his feet to collect himself and get into his zone. You take a deep breath and do the same. After a brief pause, his head snaps up, as if a switch had been flicked, and gone is Tom and here now is this other man – the actor, the artist. He looks you dead in the eye.

“May I feel? Said he,” he begins playfully, already submersed right into the part. As he speaks, he takes a step towards you, as if the question doesn’t even require your answer. Determined to not be outdone – and also, you think, to prove yourself to him – you hold your ground and keep your gaze hard.

“I’ll squeal, said she,” you answer, in an equally playful but warning tone.

He takes another step towards you, but his movements are calculated and smooth. He advances like a predator might towards an unsuspecting prey. “Just once, said he,” he replies, trying to convince you.

You pause and then smile slightly. “It’s fun, said she,” you admit.

“May I touch? Said he.” He takes another step forward.

“How much? Said she.”

Now he is but an arm’s length from you and his gaze changes. The small smile on his face drops and is replaced with seriousness. “A lot, said he,” he answers. His voice is low and definitive. Your heart beat begins to quicken, but you’re not about to show it. You know what he’s doing; what he’s trying to do. You are determined to beat him at his own game. So this time, you are the one to take a step forward, bridging the gap between you two so you are merely centimeters away from each other. “Why not? Said she,” you say.

You can suddenly see a flicker in his eyes that is not the character but undeniably Tom; like he hadn’t expected you to reciprocate and for a split second, doesn’t know what to do next. But he is a true professional, and so that glimmer lasts only for the briefest of seconds, and then he is back. “Let’s go, said he,” he commands now in that low, velvety voice again. You can feel your pulse fluttering roughly in your neck, but you make sure to breathe normally in an attempt to slow it down. Your face is beginning to flush – can he notice? You hope not; you have something to prove.

“Not too far, said she,” you reply swiftly.

“What’s too far? Said he.”

For dramatic effect, you let your eyes lower and take in the physical space between the two of you, before quietly answering, “Where you are, said she.” You don’t think it is anymore possible, but he takes a tiny step forward and suddenly your chest is practically pressed up to his. This is a battle - there is no doubt about that – to see which one of you will break first. But you’re starting to forget what exactly you two are battling for. You are afraid to look up at him, for him to be so close, but again, you can’t let him see this. So you bravely meet his eyes in time for him to say, “May I stay? Said he.”

“Which way? Said she.”

He breaks eye contact and looks down at your hands – his left and your right – which are millimeters apart. “Like this, said he.”

This is the moment where you can bring the ball back into your court; he is taking the control and you desperately want it back. So you wait for him to look back down at you, so you can make sure he sees your gaze drop to his lips and linger there for a moment. “If you kiss, said she,” you whisper gently. And a part of you, a big part, is hoping that he will. But you know you’re just being stupid. He doesn’t – but again, there seems to be something that flashes in his eyes, and he breaks out of character a second time. Just for a second. He looks down at you as if trying to figure out what he should do next; you can tell when his thought process is regular Tom’s and not his character’s because his jaw would always relax slightly. But it quickly tightens again, so abruptly that you aren’t sure if it had ever changed at all.

“May I move? Said he.”

“Is it love? Said she,” you reply quickly, almost unsure.

(Is it?)

“If you’re willing, said he.”

“But you’re killing, said she.”

He smiles softly. “But it’s life, said he.”

“But you’re wife, said she.”

“Now, said he,” he purrs, and unexpectedly brings his face a mere inches from yours. Your breath catches in your chest. How does this breathing thing work again? Again, this is a point where you have to match his boldness if you want to win. So you close your eyes, as if stung by a sweet pain, and moan, “Oww, said she.”

Before you can open your eyes, you feel his forehead press down against your own. You peek a sliver and can see that his own eyes are now closed, but his lips, parted ever so slightly. So you close yours again.

“Tiptop, said he,” he exhales.

“Don’t stop, said she,” you answer quickly, your voice becoming shaky and unreliable.

“Oh no, said he,” he assures you, and it is then you realize that he is also breathing a little heavier now.

You lift your chin slightly until you can sense that his lips are right in front of yours. “Go slow, said she,” you ask of him in a whisper, and the authenticity of the gentle pleading in your voice surprises even you. You know there is a short beat between your line and Tom’s next line, but even he pauses longer than you are expecting. You open your eyes and he opens his; he gulps slightly, not blinking. The way he stares, eyes piercing into yours… your body feels like it is on fire. He is so, so close to you and all you want to do is break the barrier and touch him. But you can’t, and it is agonizing.

“C-Come, said he,” he whispers, almost chokingly, as his gaze burns into you and makes you feel as though he’s unraveling you from the inside out. 

“Umm, said she,” you reply, your voice barely audible. You don’t mean for it to, but the “umm” comes out sounding more like a soft, needy moan. 

Tom doesn’t miss a beat. Still not blinking, he looks at you with a mixture of fascination and confusion. He shoulders heave up and down as he breathes roughly, and he swipes his tongue across his bottom lip to wet it. You aren’t sure if this is supposed to be part of the character or not. “You’re divine, said he,” he says with a surprising hint of honesty. You stare back up at him, not knowing what to do. “You… are mine, said she,” you finish uncertainly. Immediately, you are terrified at the implications of what you’d just said; the words feel so true to you, and you are overcome by a sudden sense of helplessness as you remember that no, this man is not yours, and he probably never will be.

You expect Tom to drop the act and burst back into a smile; you expect him to laugh and step back, and say something. But instead, he just continues to stare into your eyes. His own blue orbs are like question marks; you can’t decipher his gaze. His pupils are dilated. He looks confused; maybe he hadn’t expected you to be that good…? But your lips are still inches away. You can smell him, and his breath is hot and sweet and brushes your face every time he exhales. Can he hear your heart? How can he not? It is beating so damn loudly – STOP beating so loudly!

“I, uhh … I think you won,” you finally whisper, and it is shaking and so are you.

Nothing in his facial expressions changes. You feel exposed, not knowing what to say or do next. 

“I think,” his voice quietly finally breaks into your thoughts, “that that was a tie.”

You continue to look at each other, and time seems to slow down completely. Ws he going to kiss you? It feels like he was going to kiss you… but there is no way he would do that. Stop making things up in your head, you scold yourself bitterly. You can’t do this anymore; you have to leave. Him there, so close to you, but forever out of your reach, hits you like a truck, crushing you and pinning you there. You don’t know what you’d expected to accomplish by doing this stupid challenge, but this wasn’t this. Not this feeling. You don’t want to experience this feeling at all. 

You begin to back away, feeling flustered. “I, umm, I have to go,” you try to say cheerily, masking your agony so he won’t suspect anything is up. He straightens up like a board as soon as you back away, and it is only then that you realize that he had been leaning forward towards you. Probably subconsciously; he probably hadn’t even realized he was doing it. The way he looks at you now makes you feel awful; he looks surprised, and thrown off, but also like he thinks that perhaps it is a good idea that you leave. 

He looks down in front of him, and his gaze remains there, pondering. He nods slightly. “Of course,” he finally replies gently. When he looks back to you, his brow is furrowed and his eyes, slightly narrowed. He looks so lost and unsure. He nods again ever so slightly. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Kay,” you say quickly, turning on your heel and briskly leaving before anymore damage can be done. You leave him standing there, but as you go, you wonder why you can still feel his eyes following you out of the room.


	2. The Promise

You can hardly remember breathing as you run from Tom’s room, and the sound of the door shutting softly behind you of its own accord is like a knife in your heart. It creates the barrier between you and him – puts it back up. It means that you are here, and he is there, and you had your chance but you blew it. By running… why do you always feel you have to run? Did you and Tom NOT just talk about this a few nights ago, when you had told him more about your life and upbringing; about what you’d been through? Had you not looked him dead in the eye and optimistically told him that you were tired of running; weren’t going to do it anymore? 

Yet you did, and now here you are, running again, this time towards the elevator as fast as your legs will take you. But your movements seem slow and sluggish, as if you’re trapped in some horrible dream. In this moment, you wish that you were. As you wait for the elevator doors to open, you can’t help but stare back at the door to his room, your face burning a deep shade of red as it remains closed. What were you expecting? Him to come and chase you? You scold yourself ruthlessly - stupid, stupid, stupid! You should’ve known better. Now, nothing will be the same; there’s no way you can return to the friendship you had.

You bite your lip hard as the elevator takes you to your floor. You will not cry. No, you won’t. Your hands and your lips and your legs and… everything… everything trembles, and there are traitorous tears building behind your eyes. You’re flushed with both embarrassment and shame, and all you can wonder is what he must be thinking of you now. You make it to your room, and stop in the middle of it; and everything, everything trembles, but you will not cry. No, you won’t. 

Why did you have to suggest that stupid challenge? Why did you let yourself think that, for one second, he felt the same way? Now you two would never share those nights together again - of staying up until the first signs of the morning sun, laughing and talking and just enjoying each other’s company. Instead, you would just show up to set, get your scenes out of the way, awkwardly attempt to make conversation during your breaks, and then part ways at the end of each day without even a goodbye. His eyes – those deep, passionate, loving blue eyes that you have fallen madly in love with and wish you could stare into forever – would now constantly avert away from you in discomfort. 

A small, pained cry tears itself from your throat and your hand clutches at your chest, at your heart – the same heart that beats for him and right now feels as though it’s broken into shards. Your breath hitches and no, you won’t cry, you won’t – but his face flashes through your mind in all the ways you’ve grown to love it… Smiling, laughing, frowning, puzzled, preoccupied, passionate, confused… lost. Like how he had looked at you before you ran. The walls crack and they fall, shattering at your feet. You drop to your knees and cover your face as you begin to sob.

…

It had taken everything within him not to run after you. You had tried to force a smile; to pretend like you weren’t shaken to the core. But you underestimated his ability to read you. He saw right through that smile and he saw right through you. 

He’s still standing there in the middle of his room; he hasn’t moved since you backed away from him. The only thing he can think of is you; of what just happened, and how you had looked. How your cheeks flushed and your lips parted when your faces were inches apart. Your lips… they had looked so soft, warm, and gentle. And tempting. 

He stares ahead of him but sees nothing, his thoughts preoccupied. Eyes narrow and brow creased, he presses his lips in a firm line as he recalls every memory he has of you; of every smile you’d ever blessed with him, and every glance he had ever been lucky enough to steal from you. His mind replays every way you’ve ever looked, every way he’s ever known you; grinning, laughing, frowning, puzzled, preoccupied, passionate, confused… lost. Like how you had looked at him before you ran. His heart aches, remembering that look. All he had wanted to do then was take you in his arms and make it go away… but he hadn’t known how to approach you; whether or not he should. 

You were running. You always felt the need to run – and he thought he’d understood why. You had spoken once about it and he had listened, but he also heard the things you did not tell him. You are – and always have been – so strong-minded, so courageous, so beautiful. You don’t see it; or maybe you do, but think that others can’t. But he can see it. He always has. You had told him that those days were behind you. You had looked him dead in the eye and optimistically promised that you were tired of running; that you weren’t going to do it anymore. 

His eyes widen. How had he not seen it? You had run. You had run and he thought it was because he came on too strong just now, but no. You had run, and he curses himself for not realizing why sooner. 

You had run, and so he turns and runs after you.  
…

There’s a knock at your door. It comes so unexpectedly that it startles you from your tight little ball on the floor and makes you jump. You’re so surprised that you don’t get up to answer it at first, and so the knocking comes again. It’s heavy and fast and sounds frantic. Confused, you get to your feet, cross the room, and open the door. Your eyes widen.

Tom stands before you, his shoulders rising up and down heavily, as if he’d just sprinted up the hotel’s flights of stairs to get here. His mouth is ajar and he’s panting lightly, but his eyes are fixed on you. They bore into your own orbs and then trail down to notice the tear stains on your cheeks. The sight of it makes him look pained. You’re too thrown off to be able to notice the fire in his stare; how he looks at you with a strange combination of purpose and fear. 

“Tom - ?” is all you’re able to say before he rushes into the room, takes your face into his hands and crushes his lips to yours roughly. Your hands remain at your sides – your body, too stunned to remember how to react – and the only thing you can think to do is kiss back. His lips move frantically against yours, as if trying to coax something out of you. Deeply and quickly, he inhales and exhales through his nose, his hands refusing to leave your cheeks. There’s desperation in his actions. 

You can’t think. You can’t move. You can’t speak. All you’re aware of – all you know in this moment – is the way that Tom’s lips feel against yours; how they taste, how his breath fills yours lungs, how badly you want to feel the contact of his tongue against your own. You’re about to lose yourself wholly and completely in the sensations when he suddenly breaks away. Your eyes open - your pupils dilated - and you try and catch your breath. That frantic desperation hasn’t left him and neither have his hands on either side of your face. He stares at you, both of you breathing roughly, and then he licks his lips and clears his throat. 

“I –” you start to say, but he shakes his head and sighs. 

“Wait, please… I have something I need to say,” he interrupts, and there’s a silent plea in his voice that’s too palpable for you to ignore. Concerned, you nod to show him that he can continue. He takes a deep breath. “I know why you ran,” he starts softly. His thumb gently strokes your cheek as he speaks. “I know you’re afraid, and you think you’ll get hurt one way or another. I know that. But I would never hurt you… you have to know I wouldn’t. You can run from the world but please, please, don’t run from me.”

Your eyes are shining again and your bottom lip trembles. It makes it harder not to cry when you see that his own eyes are now wet with unshed tears. “And after everything, if you still feel like running, I can’t stop you,” he continues, his voice cracking. “But I will always chase after you.” 

His words are stripping you open, exposing you to him, to the world. If there was any better opportunity to run again, now is the time. But you can’t – you know you can’t, because you no longer want to. This man has rooted you to the ground, and there’s no other place you want to be than in his touch. You stare at each other for a lingering moment, and he seems to understand what your silence is saying. Moving back towards you, he closes the gap and meets your lips with his once again. The action is tentative; it asks the question he’s desperate to know. You answer by wrapping your arms around his neck and returning the kiss, sighing softly. His hands move from your face and wrap around your waist, pulling you tightly against him as his lips work yours.

He starts stepping forward, and you follow his direction by stepping backwards blindly. Gentle, quiet groans vibrate in his throat, and the sound of it makes your head spin and your body erupt into the most delicious heat. You feel the mattress of the bed hit the back of your knees and you fall onto it, Tom landed on top of you. As you exchange open-mouthed kisses, he props himself up on one elbow while the other hand moves all over you; it cups your shoulder, slides up and down your arm, grips roughly onto your waist, runs along the length of your neck and cups your face, fingers tangling in your hair. The tip of his tongue touches yours, giving only a little, waiting for you to either respond or break away. You sigh again and pull his face closer against yours as your sign of resignation, and he responds, moaning quietly and slipping his tongue deeper into your mouth. They beat together, dancing and mirroring each other’s movements perfectly. He tastes of freedom and love and all that is glorious; he tastes of hunger and passion, with a hint of that red wine lingering behind it. 

He breaks away – producing a small, needy whine from you – and nudges your head back, exposing your neck. All you can hear is the sound of his breathing as his lips plant feathery kisses down your jaw line, down your throat. You inhale deeply as you feel that warm, wet muscle in his mouth swipe against your skin, only to be followed by another full, firm kiss. You’re paralyzed as his lips continue lower, caressing your collar bone before moving to the other one. You go to reach for his hair – to wrap your fingers in it – when he straightens up and stares down at you. He looks amazed, his eyes reflecting the hunger in his heart. He will make you his. With his strong, artistic hands, he takes your own and pulls you upright. Not saying a word, he pulls your shirt over your head and then, kissing your shoulder, unhooks your bra and removes it. Pressing a warm hand to your chest, your frantic heartbeat thumping beneath it, he gently lowers you back down and then resumes kissing down your body. You’re shaking now; something about exposing yourself to him thrills you but fills you with a sense of terror. What happens if he is displeased with what he sees? 

You close your eyes and try to focus instead on the feel of his lips, his tongue, his hot breath, as it all moves along your skin. A sudden gasp escapes you when the tip of his tongue caresses your nipple before it’s drawn into his mouth and sucked softly. Now your hands spring to his hair, and you’re relieved that he doesn’t move away again before you get the chance. He treats the second one to the same tender, excruciating care. Then he’s continuing lower, lavishing your stomach, your hip bones, until he comes to the waistline of your jeans.

Taking the button within his fingers, he careful undoes it and pulls down the zipper. “Lift your back, darling,” he exhales against the skin of your lower belly, and you follow his instructions without thought. You know in this moment that this man can control you with but a single word, and you relish in it. Arching your back, you raise your behind off the bed slightly. He hooks his fingers in the top of your pants and lowers them (and your panties), pulling them off your legs one by one, taking his time. When the first leg is exposed, he runs his hand over the calf, and you shiver at the pleasant feeling. He does the same when the other leg is bared. He looks at you now; his eyes run along every curve of your body, every perfection and every blemish, taking it all in. You can’t read his gaze. It is taking everything he has not to touch you; to savour this moment instead. His lips part and he breathes huskily, “God, you’re beautiful…” his eyes drinking in the sight of you. All you can do is blush furiously.

He wraps his fingers around your wrist and pulls you back up to him a second time. Directing your hands to the bottom of his black shirt, you move together, pulling it up his body and over his head, his eyes never leaving yours. You feel faint at the sight of his naked chest; it’s firm and contoured lightly by his muscles, and there’s a faint sprinkling of hair between his pecks. Your eyes move all over it, taking in his surprisingly define biceps and the muscles of his stomach. Your stare lands on the small treasure trail he sports beneath his navel, traveling all the way down and getting lost in the waistline of his own pants, and you gulp. His hands moving to his own button and fly, he leans in and surprises you with a full, passionate kiss and he undoes them but progresses no further. Using his weight to guide to you, he leans forward again so you lie back down. You don’t want to let go of him, you don’t want to lose the feeling of his lips moving against yours, but his kiss only lasts a second once you’re on your back before he breaks contact again.

Eyes glued to yours, he slides down the bed and bends over; you can feel his lips kissing back and forth between your legs, starting at the knees and working their way back up. He moves himself so he’s lying between them, and gently presses against your inner thighs to nudge them apart. Again, fear courses through you at the worry that he won’t like your body; how it looks, how it feels, how it tastes. You want to tell him to stop, to just get back up here and kiss you again, but you’re too fixed in the moment to be able to form the necessary words. Your body is tense as Tom’s lips press on and off against your inner thighs, until you can feel his breath against your sex. You tense uncontrollably, your heart slamming against the inner cavity of your chest. He can sense your fear, and he reaches up a hand to touch your chin and stroke along your jaw with his thumb. “It’s okay,” he whispers, eyes closed. The anticipation is killing him and he is beginning to shake lightly now, too. Only his comes from an insatiable desire to feel and taste every inch of you; to make you his. 

He plants a single, soft kiss against your sex, and you gasp. The sound invites him in, and he unravels you as he drags the tip of his tongue from the bottom of your heat, right up to over your clit, your undeniable wetness coating his tongue. The feeling is unreal and you grip the blanket beneath you in your hands and close your fingers around it tightly. There’s a pause, when you hear Tom hum appreciative and growl, “You taste divine.”

Those words are too much, and you let out a full, unabashed moan in response. The sound of it resonates all the way in Tom’s groin and suddenly he’s seeing red and all coherent thoughts have vanished. His mouth closes over you and begins to assault you in the most delectable way, his tongue expertly massaging and circling your clit. It’s so sudden and so powerful that you curl up partly from the mattress, crying out, before dropping back down and arching your back up and down. He works against you with ease, lapping you up and devouring you, coaxing more wetness from your heat. The pleasure is instantaneous and what’s more, it’s instantly unbearable. The combination of your pent up desire for this man, mixed with the knowledge that he’s finally taking you is enough to make you climax as it is. But this man – this beautiful, perfect man – knows what’s he’s doing, and has no difficulty pinpointing what motions you best respond to, before settling on a rhythm that stimulates you to the boiling point. One of your hands is now in his hair, tugging at the tresses; the other, gripping the blanket so hard that your knuckles are white. Panting, you want to beg him to stop, because the pleasure is ruthless and makes you feel like you’re about to completely come undone; but you also want to beg him to continue, because it feels good, it feels so good, and you don’t want to return to a world where his tongue is not on you the way it is now. What a wicked game he plays. 

So it’s all you can do to gasp and whimper, your body wriggling beneath him, unable to handle the ecstasy. Your eyes widen, a strangled cry ripping out of your throat, when you feel a long finger suddenly slide into you, his tongue never letting up against that small bundle of nerves. It pushes into you deeply before retreating, and then it pushes in again. He only gives you a second to adjust to it before adding a second finger, curling them expertly and finding that certain spot that makes you buck. You feel that familiar, uncontainable energy building up in the spots where he conquers you, both in and out, and it begins to spread across your body and culminate in your core, growing to an almost dangerous pressure. 

“Tom,” you try to say, coming out as a sharp gasp. He can feel your walls tightening around his fingers – how that bundle of nerves against his tongue seems to harden slightly – and he’s just as caught up in lust as you are. You’ve no idea what the sight of you, the sound of you, the feel of you, the taste of you… you’ve no idea what it’s doing to him. For him, receiving pleasure pales in comparison to giving it. He could get off alone on knowing how wet and satiated he’s making you. He hums in satisfaction against your sex, and it vibrates around you. This is your undoing. That energy building up inside of you unleashes in a violent explosion that sucks all the air from your lungs, your head craning back into the bed and your back arching again. No sound escapes you, all breath has abandoned you, but Tom knows the power of your orgasm by the way you tremble around his digits and instantly become even wetter against his tongue. Sighing yearningly, he retreats his fingers and holds onto your hips as he softens the pressure of his tongue and continues to slide up and down your sex, desperate to drink in every last drop of you. 

Once you are able to breathe again, you start moaning loudly, your climax still licking through your limbs and incapacitating your brain. When it finally begins to subside, you become more aware of Tom’s warm muscle still swiping along you, unrelenting, and with each lick it becomes too much to withstand; you’re too sensitive to take anymore. “T-Tom, stop,” you breathe, eyes still squeezed shut. When he doesn’t desist, you tug lightly on his hair and hit the mattress a few times with a flat palm to get his attention. To your bittersweet relief, his head snaps up and you hear him murmur, “Hmm, what was that, darling?”

“Please… no more…” you groan. The sound of him chuckling lightly forces the same reaction out of you. Tilting your head down, you take in the sight of him. He looks up at you with the kind of mischievous smile you were only used to seeing on him when he played Loki, and the man is positively radiating sex – his hair is tousled and messy from you pulling at it, his pupils are dilated and filled with lust, and his lips glisten with the your climax. Instantly, you can feel yourself growing wet all over again, and it almost makes you want to roll your eyes and groan. You’re far too sensitive to take another round of that sweet, pleasing torture at this moment. What you want right now – what you REALLY want – is to feel every inch of him inside of you. The thought provokes a familiar pulsing in your sex as another wave of heat rushes you. The image reminds you that Tom still has his pants on, and this just will not do...


	3. The Sex

You sit up, and Tom immediately crawls up your body in one fluid motion and presses his wet lips against yours. You can taste yourself on him; he wastes no time plunging his tongue into your mouth, sliding sensually against yours so you can enjoy that taste as much as he is. Something about Tom Hiddleston – England’s poster boy for all that is chivalrous and gentlemanly – being dirty enough to WANT you to taste your own climax off of him drives you insane with lust. A part of you, a big part, is curious to see what other secrets you’re about to discover. 

“Mmmm,” he hums lowly in his throat, one hand reaching up to hold you by the side of your head. You both break apart, eyes still closed and faces inches away from one another. He lets out a small, “Eheheheh,” before declaring in that velvety voice, “You’re delicious. I could do that every second of every day and I’d never tire of it.”

You groan softly and wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him against you before crushing your lips back together. His arms immediately wrap around you and hold your naked frame tightly to his. The skin on skin contact is dizzying; the feeling of your breasts pushed up against his firm chest fills you with a hunger you’ve never known before. Never in your life have you ever desired a person as much as you do him. His skin is flushed and hot against yours; he feels feverish, and the way with which his hands can’t seem to stay still as he frantically kisses you – roaming all along your back and neck and into your hair – reaffirms this. Because he made it clear that he was more than pleased with your body, all self-consciousness is gone, and you’re now filled with confidence. Your movements are much more assured, as you pull him down on top of you and then suddenly roll over so he’s the one now on his back. Breathless, he chuckles into your mouth before continuing the kiss, hands never leaving you and eyes never opening. 

You grip onto either side of his face, your fingers cradled along the back of his neck. You kiss him with a boldness you never knew you had. You feel sexy; you ARE sexy. Tom can sense the change, and his already erect member becomes even harder from beneath the fly of his pants. You are beautiful - you are beautiful, and in this moment, he has shown you this and you believe him. Only with him have you ever truly felt this way. You moan softly against his lips when you feel his hands slide down your back and run over your behind, slender fingers gripping it tightly. One hand stays there as the other reaches back up and tangles back into your hair, pulling you as close as humanly possible as he devours your mouth with his. 

Unable to contain yourself, you rock your hips against him, moaning softly when your sensitive sex rubs against his concealed erection. The action produces a sharp gasp from Tom’s lips, and his eyes fly open. You look at him, and his pupils are so dilated that you can hardly see the rings of magnificent blue. Instead his eyes look black, and it gives his features an animalistic edge that makes your inner thighs wet all over again. You want him to take you and make love to you with a passionate force, unable to contain how badly he wants you. You continue the deep, steady rhythm, exhaling appreciatively every time you feel the delicious friction of his hard-on against your clit. 

“Fuck…” he breathes, letting his head fall back and his eyes flutter into his head briefly. It’s almost inaudible, and it’s so raw and real that it sends a jolt of electricity through you, making you shiver. Cursing like that, from Tom, is seen an oddity to the rest of the world – rarely ever slipping on camera, or with fans and professionals. But you knew Tom more intimately, even before tonight; you were his friend. And around friends, you had been surprised to see that the man did tend to swear in his vernacular speech about as much as any other 32-year-old. Yet he had an image to the rest of the world – one that was, in a way, squeaky clean and innocent - and so maybe it’s for that reason why whenever you’ve ever heard it, you can never help but find it arousing. 

The hand that is on your rear is pushing against you in time with your rocking hips, aiding in pulling them down against his. He looks back up at you at the exact same moment that a low, velvety moan slips past his lips, and something inside of you snaps. You lean forward and take his lips with yours roughly – only for a second, before lavishing his jaw and his neck with the same attention he had given yours. His light stubble scratches against your lips and chin as you taste and kiss the flesh of his throat. He smells of cologne and a bit of sweat, and something that can only be described as manly. It’s intoxicating – how is everything about this man so perfect? You nip gently at his neck, and he hisses through his teeth, your actions arousing even more life into the bulge in his pants until you can feel it twitching against you. 

“Darling, easy,” he says quickly but softly, a hint of a smile in his voice. “Can’t leave any marks,” he reminds you. You whine impatiently, wishing you could do it again – makeup could easily cover any blemishes you two provoked on the other’s skin. But that couldn’t stop people from talking once they saw them, and if the press found out about it, your lives would become chaos. Reluctantly, you know he has a point. 

“Sorry, forgot,” you murmur before soothing over the faint teeth marks with your tongue. He sighs at the feeling, and his hands begin to run aimlessly again across you as he’s distracted by pleasure; all over your back, down your arms, over your ass… Your lips move down his chest, down his stomach, until you get until his opened fly. You look up at him and he looks down at you, his lips parted ever so slightly. 

“Lift your back, darling,” you repeat his words back to him wittily, putting emphasis on the word “darling” playfully. Tom lets out another little “Eheheheh” before biting his lip, smiling tightly, and then obeying. It turns out that the sight of him arching like that is just as appealing as it was for him when you did the same earlier; you wonder if he’ll ever stop blowing your mind by how unfathomably sexy he is. His rear lifts off the bed and, just as he did to you, you slide his pants down, his boxers quick to follow. You toss them onto the floor and then, with a slight nervousness at the anticipation you feel, you bring your eyes onto his swollen appendage. They widen.

Maybe you shouldn’t be surprised – given his towering height – but he’s impressively big, and well groomed. He watches you stare at it, you unknowingly licking your lips as you take in the sight. You want it – now. You want to touch it, taste it, feel it; working inside of you in more places than one. You sit yourself next to his hip and then lower yourself so you’re lying down on your side. With the back of your head to him, you tentatively wrap your fingers around the base of his sex – your hand shaking slightly with excitement – and bring your lips to the tip. 

The second it makes contact, it twitches slightly, and you can feel Tom’s body stiffen with anticipation. The moment is suspended in the air around you. You break it by licking your lips and then gliding them over the head and staying there; slowly, teasingly, massaging your tongue around it as you suck lightly. The form beneath you bucks and a surprised mixture of a moan and a gasp gets caught in Tom’s throat. One of his hands tangles into your hair, the other reaching up and behind him to grip the headboard. 

You repeat those actions for almost a full agonizing minute, Tom’s breathing becoming laboured and short, needy groans emitting from behind you. Then you draw in more, bringing your head down lower - relishing in the way it feels sliding along your tongue and forcing you to open your mouth wider the further you go. You take in as much as you physically can without choking, but even then, there’s still more left – and this excites you. Your hand tends to the remaining, exposed base of his cock that cannot be claimed by your lips, and you begin to suck sensually as your hand follows the ascension and declension of your head. 

You vary between techniques, trying to scope out what he bests responds to. Honestly, he seems to be responding well to everything you’re doing, but you want to pinpoint that exact ‘thing’ that makes him unravel. The hand that’s in your hair switches back and forth from scratching its fingertips against your scalp to tugging gently at your tresses. His other hand grips the headboard so tightly that his knuckles are white. Each time his fingers switch to pressing against your scalp, he finds himself rolling his hips up, trying to assist in the pleasure he’s feeling by burying as much of his stimulated appendage into the wet cavern of your beautiful mouth as he can. 

You press your tongue flat against the underside of his dick and drag it up until it presses over that sensitive spot where the shaft meets the tip; then you twist your head to circle your tongue around his tip, a soft moan reverberating from your throat and vibrating against him. You’re suddenly startled as Tom’s back arches off the bed and a loud, sharp cry fills the room. Your own sex pulsates strongly at the sound; Tom is vulnerable and unabashed and you can feel his upper body writhing uncontrollably. This is his spot – this is his weakness. So you suck him back in until your mouth is completely full and then drag it back up and repeat the action a second time, and then a third. By the fourth, you start picking up speed and focus your tongue’s and lips’ attention solely on the tip and that incredibly sensitive patch of skin underneath the back of it, your hand pumping him with added pressure. He gasps your name several times, and each and every time he moans, you feel all the more powerful. 

“Turn your head,” he exhales with bated breath. “I want to see you.” You do, turning your head over so he can look down and drink in the sight of you taking over him. Your eyes are heavy-lidded with lust; your hair, hanging partially over your face. He groans when your eyes lock onto his, and then you continue the onslaught. Fuck, this man is gorgeous. His cock is growing rigid in your hand and you know that if you keep this up, he will come undone, spilling into your mouth – and this is exactly what you want: to taste him, in every possible way. 

“Stop,” he gasps urgently, anxiety in his voice. You ignore him and keep going, desperate to fulfill your selfish need. The second time he speaks, it better catches your attention. “Stop, darling, stop!” he practically shouts. Reluctantly, you do. You look up at him and smile slyly, reveling in the way you’ve taken this man at your mercy. He doesn’t smile back – on the contrary, his eyes flash with an almost dangerous craving, and his jaw is tense. You’re practically knocked back when he suddenly lets go of the headboard and bolts upwards, his arms wrapping around you possessively and flipping you onto your back before you even know what’s happened. “Condoms,” he orders simply, authoritatively, looking down at you with expectation. This is your hotel room, after all. You stare up at him wide-eyed and then shake your head slightly; you don’t have any. Why would you? He pauses for a second, and you worry that this news will halt everything you two have been working up to. The idea causes a painful panic to shoot through you – you need this man, need him inside of you, taking over your existence. If he stopped now, you’d shatter. But there’s no change in his bewitched expression, and he suddenly grits his teeth together and hisses, “Sod it.” Quickly, he brings his weight down on you, hard, crushing your body against the mattress as he positions himself between your legs. Smashing his lips onto yours, his tongue wasting no time plunging into your mouth and entwining around your own, he pushes into you with one vigorous thrust. 

You gasp as your eyes fly open at the intrusion. The penetration is quick and astounding; you feel your inner walls expand, adjusting to his size and length as it buries itself into you within seconds. His jaw drops and his gaze wavers as a full, guttural moan escapes him. He is so hard and you are so wet that the coming-together is effortless; his mind spins with your tightness, but your juices slick him and fills him with instantaneous, exquisite warmth. Your hands spring up to his muscular back and you dig his nails into his skin without thought. You cling to him as if for dear life as he pulls away and then thrusts back into you again, sheathing his sex completely. Your sounds of pleasure mingle together. The heat between your bodies begins to grow. He works in and out of you, your body thrilled and respondent to the way he stretches you and makes you feel full. Tom Hiddleston is inside of you. You toss your head back, arching your neck and exposing it, and the thought consumes you and adds to the pleasure radiating throughout your limbs.

His lips cover your throat immediately, kissing and sucking softly – just softly enough as to not leave any blemishes – in between short, breathy moans. He tries to tell you how beautiful, how exhilarating, how positively radiant you are… but when he tries to form the words, all that comes out is a strangled grunt and then a sharp intake of air. All thoughts are lost the longer he plummets in and out of you, with a force that’s both mighty and urgent but also passionate and gentle. His lips glide up and down your neck hungrily; then he takes your chin in his hand and pulls your face towards his to reclaim your mouth again. His other hand squeezes beneath your body and presses flat against the small of your back. He pushes against that area, lifting your lower body up slightly and angling your hips upward. He buries himself back into you and then changes his rhythm – instead of full thrusts, he keeps his hipbones pressed firmly against yours and begins to rock himself inside of you. His pelvis grinds against your clit, stimulating it ruthlessly, and when he uses that hand against your back to sharpen the angle of your lower body, your lungs constrict as you feel his cock brush up against your g-spot. 

You cry out, which causes him to moan in delight. On impact, your tight walls clench around him involuntarily, squeezing him. His eyes roll back as he lets out another deep breath. He is dishing back out the same unbearable torture you were unleashing onto him; the euphoria is so palpable that you forget how to breathe. Your fingernails dig deeper against his skin, and somewhere in the back of your mind, a voice is trying to remind you to stop doing that, because you can’t leave marks, and Tom will be upset if you do. But the actions drags out the opposite response from your lover; instead, he lets out a long groan, raising his head and feeling out the sensation with closed eyes and parted lips. His arms tremble as they struggling to keep him held up like them, and with a transfixed expression on his face – eyes still closed – he breathes, “Harder.” To further entice you, he rocks his hips again, striking against that sensitive patch of nerves from within you. Impulsively, you mewl and dig your nail as deeply as you can into his flesh before dragging them down his perfect back. 

He gasps loudly, his eyebrows knitting together in the sweet sting. He collapses back onto you and sways himself into you in a frenzy. He keeps his thrusts contained to within your walls, still never pulling out more than a few centimeters each time. He rubs against your g-spot with each thrust, all the while hardening your clit as it pulsates with blood and heat as his pelvis scrapes against it deliciously. He is taking you in your entirety and pulling you apart piece by piece; he is unravelling you and then putting you back together again. There is so much power within this man’s touch, in his voice; you know he has no idea how influential he truly is. Sweat slicks your bodies, your bodies that mold together perfectly, and you can feel him lifting you up and bringing you to the highest precipice of the world – where all is good and glorious and beautiful. You bring your hands down to Tom’s ass and grip onto it hectically, trying to pin him where he is so he can keep hitting that spot that makes you weak, so this moment never has to end. He undulates against you like a magnificent rolling wave, and you’re high up, you’re so high up, and the view is breathtaking. 

“Tom,” you whisper, knowing that you’re close. Still moving within you, provoking your oncoming climax, the sound of his name draws his attention to your eyes. You bite your lip and you sigh in pleasure, and you don’t know if you’ll regret this but you’re too far gone to care. You lift your chin and graze his lips with yours. “I love you,” you say, your voice struggling as you moan again. He falters for a single moment, your words seeming to throw a wrench in his fluid pace. His eyes widened – just a little – and amongst the lust and ravenous longing, there is an overwhelming adoration and tenderness. He exhales and groans softly and he susurrates, “I love you too,” at the exact same moment that the tip of his sex once again collides with your g-spot. It’s all too much – physically and emotionally – and you squeeze your eyes shut and cry out loudly. He silences you with a forceful kiss as he rocks into you quicker, harder. Your stifled whimpers mix with his soft, staccato grunts. Both of your bodies begin to tense up with need. “I love you,” he breathes again in between kisses, in between thrusts. He’s rambling now. “I love you… I love you…” 

Your breath catches in your chest as you’re suddenly tumbling from that precipice, spiralling towards the ground. Your orgasm rips through your body and paralyzes you. It feels good… it feels so good… and you can’t stand it. There are fireworks and Tom’s voice is music and you’ll never run away, not ever again. You scream his name and this is his undoing. “Oh god… Oh yes!” he pants, quickening his pace even more. His moans become short and rise in pitch until he pulls out almost completely and then slams once more back inside of you, coming deep within your walls, your own name tumbling from his lips loudly. 

Your bodies spasm and shudder uncontrollably as your climaxes wrack you to the core and linger there. It takes a while to dissipate, but when it finally does, he collapses on top of you, smothering you under his weight and body heat. He sluggishly kisses your neck and then plants a soft, sloppy kiss on your lips. You both try to catch your breath, your pupils slowly shrinking back to their normal sizes. “There is witchcraft in your lips,” he sighs finally, a tired smile on his face, and you laugh at his unfaltering ability to incorporate Shakespeare wherever he can. His smile expands into a grin, and he softly chuckles, “Eheheheh…” He smoothes back your hair, looking down at you lovingly. You gently run your hands up and down his back in a relaxing gesture. He winces slightly when your fingertips graze the long, pink lines where your nails had scratched him. “Sorry,” you whisper, though you don’t feel sorry at all. “I guess I forgot again.” He laughs, pondering everything that’s just happened. “Worth it,” he decides then, before reclaiming you in another kiss.


End file.
